that looked as if it might contain a preserved mouse among its other
nondescript treasures, Hop Sing arose, and, gravely beckoning us to
follow him, began to descend to the basement. When we got there, we were
amazed at finding it brilliantly lighted, and that a number of chairs
were arranged in a half-circle on the asphalt pavement. When he had
courteously seated us, he said,--

"I have invited you to witness a performance which I can at least
promise you no other foreigners but yourselves have ever seen. Wang,
the court-juggler, arrived here yesterday morning. He has never given a
performance outside of the palace before. I have asked him to entertain
my friends this evening. He requires no theatre, stage accessories, or
any confederate,--nothing more than you see here. Will you be pleased to
examine the ground yourselves, gentlemen."

Of course we examined the premises. It was the ordinary basement or
cellar of the San Francisco storehouse, cemented to keep out the damp.
We poked our sticks into the pavement, and rapped on the walls, to
satisfy our polite host--but for no other purpose. We were quite content
to be the victims of any clever deception. For myself, I knew I was
ready to be deluded to any extent, and, if I had been offered an
explanation of what followed, I should have probably declined it.

Although I am satisfied that Wang's general performance was the first of
that kind ever given on American soil, it has, probably, since become so
familiar to many of my readers, that I shall not bore them with it here.
He began by setting to flight, with the aid of his fan, the usual number
of butterflies, made before our eyes of little bits of tissue-paper, and
kept them in the air during the remainder of the performance. I have a
vivid recollection of the judge trying to catch one that had lit on his